


Trouble at Ares Bridge

by bibliolatry



Series: Demon!John [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, demon!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 05:42:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliolatry/pseuds/bibliolatry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Margaret Wilson is found shot in the head in the garden of her Sussex estate where her family was spending summer with a close friend. When Elizabeth Salisbury, Margaret's friend, is taken into custody, Neville Wilson calls upon Sherlock Holmes to prove her innocence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trouble at Ares Bridge

**Author's Note:**

> Unedited and not Brit-picked. Please excuse any errors.

"Please, Mr. Holmes. I know she's innocent."

Sherlock stares at the man sat across from him. A quick glance at his watch tells him it will be another nine minutes before his demon returns from Tesco. He's still considering taking the case. It's rather interesting; a six at most. Normally he wouldn't consider leaving the flat for anything less than a seven, but it had been unbearably boring as of late. The lack of cases from New Scotland Yard and the woeful collection of personal cases John attempted more than once to coax Sherlock out for merely agitated him more. He was just about to tell Mr. Wilson that he'd take the case when the front door to 221 Baker Street opened and shut. 

The sound of John's footsteps on the stairs resounded through the nearly silent flat. He entered the sitting room and paused, staring between Sherlock and the unidentified male seated in Sherlock's chair across from his human. After four years together, John felt as though he'd earned the right to call Sherlock his. "Case?" he asked as he continued into the kitchen with the bags of perishables. He put away the milk, eggs and bacon before returning to the sitting room. 

"Yes, at least a six, but I'm bored and it could get interesting."

"Right. Where to, then?" he asked, placing a hand on the back of his chair behind Sherlock's head.

"Sussex."

**❋❋❋**

Sherlock stared over the edge of the bridge crossing a narrow river that ran through the farthest part of the garden. His eyes zoomed in on a strange chip on the lower ledge of the bridge, taking into account the positioning, width and depth. How the chip had gotten there, he couldn't deduce; _more information required_. He looked back towards the two story manor: _five bedrooms, kitchen, dining room, family room, television room, study_. His eyes focused on the glass patio doors where his demon stood with Mr. Wilson. The two children had been sent to stay with relatives back in London, having traveled with their father when the Wilson's house guest, Ms. Salisbury, had been taken into custody. The email messages between the two women had suggested that Mrs. Wilson and Ms. Salisbury had planned a rendezvous the night before Mrs. Wilson had been found in the very spot Sherlock now stood. An E. Anschutz Dueling pistol, part of Mr. Wilson's antique collection kept in his study, had been found buried in her wardrobe. The evidence piled against her was indisputable. _Something's not right_.

"Sherlock?" he looked up to see John heading towards him from the house, his hand raised as though trying to garner his attention with the movement all on its own. He watched as John crossed the last bit of garden and stepped onto the old stone bridge. "Got anything?"

"Not much," Sherlock said, turning back to his study of the stone underfoot. "I need to speak with Ms. Salisbury."

**❋❋❋**

"Inspector Hopkins, I need to speak with Elizabeth Salisbury," Sherlock shot out as he entered the inspectors office. 

"Sherlock," Hopkins sighed, running a hand over his face. "I can't just..."

"I don't care. I need to speak with her or would you rather continue on this road of persecuting an innocent woman?"

Hopkins stared at Sherlock for a moment. It seemed as though he wasn't going to comply, but the subtle shift of his shoulders was the tell-tale sign that he had already decided to acquiesce. He stood from his chair, moving around the desk and swerving between Sherlock and John to get to the door. "Come on, then."

"Ms. Salisbury," John inclined his head in greeting as the woman was lead into the interrogation room.

Sherlock sat across from her, his eyes shifting back and forth as they took in every detail. "Oh. _Oh_! Yes, this is starting to make more sense."

"What?" John and Elizabeth asked at the same time.

"You were having an affair," Sherlock stated. "Wait, no. That's not quite right. He was courting you, but you wouldn't sleep with him while he was still married to Margaret. She was your best friend, after all."

Elizabeth's face flushed, but she made no move to deny it.

"So, it was Mr. Wilson, then?" John asked, turning to Sherlock.

"Oh, do shut up, John. No, it wasn't Neville Wilson that killed his wife; it wasn't Ms. Salisbury either. I need to get back to the house; back to the bridge," and he was up and out the room before John could ask anything else. 

**❋❋❋**

It took Sherlock approximately twelve and three quarters minutes to solve the case. While John was on the phone with Inspector Hopkins, Sherlock studied the bridge once more. It all made perfect sense now. He couldn't wait to let the deductions stream from his mouth, see the look of pride and wonder on his demons face.

"Sherlock?" he looked up and noticed that Inspector Hopkins had arrived while he'd been lost in thought. John stood just to the side of the inspector with a handcuffed Elizabeth Salisbury between them and Neville stood to the other side of John.

"You can let her go," Sherlock waved a hand towards the woman. "Margaret Wilson killed herself."

"What?" three voices echoed, John remaining silent as he waited for the irrefutable evidence he knew Sherlock would supply.

"Yes. She'd discovered your courtship and decided she'd get her retribution by framing Ms. Salisbury for murder. She broke into your antiques display shelf and stole the guns. Yes _guns_ , as in more than one. There were two to the set, were there not?"

"Yes," Neville nodded as he looked between Sherlock and Inspector Hopkins. "There were. I hadn't even thought of that until just now."

"Right. She stole them, planted one in the guest room Ms. Salisbury was staying in, sent the email requesting the rendezvous and a response to confirm the time and place. Then she printed out a copy of the emails, tied a rock to the pistol she'd kept with her and came out here where she shot herself, ensuring the pistol would be dragged to the bottom of the river. If you have your men drag the river, Inspector Hopkins, you'll find your suicide weapon. Now, you can release her."

"Brilliant," John smiled at him and Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek to keep from returning the gesture.


End file.
